


Anger

by hollowsbest



Series: Consequences [8]
Category: Original Work, The Weathervane Journal
Genre: Character Death, Character Study, Consequences Of Your Actions, Gen, Mild Gore, Self-Hatred, The Open Maw (The Bloated King)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:14:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27913612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollowsbest/pseuds/hollowsbest
Summary: The taunting words fall from her lips, spelling everything out to you. Calling you afoolfor missing the signs, rubbing it in your face that you'd missed her planning, her growing deceit.Your anger froths, raging and rising as she tells you how you failed. A presence beside you, telling you to take what you deserve, to take yourrevenge.You make your choice.Jasper finds herself betrayed, and what comes after.
Series: Consequences [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2043850





	Anger

The only thing running through your brain after hearing Milo confirm the betrayal, is that you’ll _kill her_. You never should’ve allowed her to come along in the first place, demons are notoriously untrustworthy beings (by societal force you are aware, but that doesn’t lessen your anger any), and the only reason Agoroth is anywhere near trustworthy is because you’ve got her in an airtight _contract_.

You should’ve fucking insisted she make one, or in the very least kept a closer eye on her. In your defense, Lucifer and her ability to remember all of Hell’s history were very enticing. ~~(That’s a pitiful attempt at a defense.)  
~~And now, because of your lapse of judgement, JD is gone, and the rest of you are scattered on Hell’s surface in an area you’d rather be nowhere _near_.

You need to learn your lesson. Never trust assassins for hire. No matter how much of a boon they may be. ~~Or how pretty.~~

When you find her, you’re going to break her, learn _why_ she did this, and end her.  
She may be an assassin with a decent repertoire, but you are _angry_ and _furious_ and she has taken _**one of yours**_.

Let her learn that Jasper Heaton is not kind to those who hurt her family.  
_Her days are numbered._

* * *

You feel a satisfaction coiled in your gut, your goal complete. Your fury washing cool with the slow pooling blood on the floor, it’s mesmerising. You stand watching for what feels like an eternity, until you are harshly pushed aside by Agoroth. You hadn’t… Realised she was there. You stand frozen for a moment, watching her cry.

You feel like a bucket of ice water has been dumped onto you, standing before the consequences of your actions. Of your rage. Of a life cut short. (Or soon will be.)  
Your flesh stings and drips fluids, a steady, growing wetness of your shirt. The Amulet hangs from your limp hand, covered in blood and viscera. Just like the rest of you. ~~(Though this time it’s not your own.)~~

The sound of splitting bone and flesh echoes through your mind, a squelching cracking that makes you recoil. You hadn’t needed to do _that_. You don’t even know why you did. Your brain runs in circles trying to understand _why_ but all you keep coming up with is that you _wanted it_. The thought disgusts you, you _never_ wanted her to die in such a brutalised state. ~~(Yet you _had_ wanted to make her _**hurt**_.)~~ It… Scares you, that your rage has brought such suffering. This wasn’t a justified death, this wasn’t merciful, she didn’t _deserve_ to die.

And the _walls_ , you remember how they _writhed_. Soft supple lips with lolling protruding tongues… Whispering to you, enticing you to take it _One Step Further_. To take your revenge _fully_ , make her _suffer_. It had been… Captivating. A hypnotic mass of flesh moving in unison, almost beautiful. Egging you on.  
You’d found yourself moving before you’d even had time to think. Shredding her arm, ripping it from her body. Leaving her to bleed out in agonising pain, wrought by your hand. You’d felt a sick sense of satisfaction, knowing her last moments would be spent in agony.

Your mind plays it all back, every second of it. It sickens you, disgusts you. You had _no right_ , no matter your anger and rage, no matter the monster whispering in your mind. _Nobody_ deserves this. But despite your conviction, you had still _done it_.

If you were anything less than yourself, you’d likely have thrown up by now.

You’re pulled from your thoughts by her admission of how little time you have left before the Crownies catch up with you. You process this slowly, as you adjust your grip on the amulet you’re gripping hard enough to break skin.  
You know you should be leaving, take the stairs down and reunite with your ~~family~~ team.  
You don’t move.

The sharp cracks of a gun being unloaded startles you hard enough that you have your arms up ready for another fight before you realise it was Agoroth, ending her rival’s misery.  
You watch as she stands, something clasped in the hand not holding the gun. She doesn’t look at you as she brushes past, back down the stairs.  
That’s fair of her, you think, watching her go.

It spurs you on to move, mechanically flicking blood off the amulet, wiping the rest off on the corner of your shirt. It’s unrecoverable anyway, your choice to take five bullets to the stomach doing it in. (You’re still not sure why you did that.) It’s full of holes and soaked with blood now.

The amulet, now clean of blood and viscera, returns to its place around your neck. You tuck it under your shirt after a moment of hesitation, you can’t bear to look at it right now. Hell, you can barely look at yourself right now.  
You avoid looking at the quickly cooling corpse as you collect your shotgun, your heart _aches_.

You’re a fucking idiot for thinking that maybe, _maybe_ , you could get through something without your fucking _fate_ rearing its ugly head and dragging you into something abhorrent that you cause by your own hand. Disgusting.

You catch a glimpse of her as you turn around to leave, walking slowly past the shrapnel ridden desk. Whoever says people look peaceful in death is a fucking liar, she just looks haunted. Afraid even.  
You force yourself to look away, knowing that they’re waiting for you, depending on you. There’s not much time left, you need to get your head in the _game_ Jasper.

Your feet hit the stairs with little fanfare, you stumble and catch the railing. Taking around five bullets to your stomach was _not_ a smart move, the wounds ache in reminder.  
They’ve healed somewhat, the bullets themselves having been forced out by your flesh regrowing. Maybe, if she’d downed you, it wouldn’t’ve ended in tragedy.  
Or maybe, it’d have pissed you off further, and you might’ve done something worse.

….You don’t want to think about that possibility.  
You hurry down the rest of the stairs, you have a job to finish.

* * *

After everything, after killing Abbadon, after dooming Earth (even if it’s three-hundred years in the future), after convincing Lucifer she doesn’t need to _stay_ (though that wasn’t much you, neither were the others), though before leaving Hell. (But only just.) You sit, in an unblemished shirt with unbroken skin. Amulet heavy against your breastbone. You stare up at the unfamiliar night sky while lost in thought.

If not for you, she could’ve gotten to see a free Hell. One that would eventually no longer hold deception and souls as the pinnacle of what a demon could be, one where she wouldn’t have had to fight so hard to just simply _live_. You stole that from her.

“Damasca…” You breathe her name softly, “I’m sorry.”  
The words to little to lessen the guilt that eats you. Eats and eats and _**eats**_.  
Soon, it’ll have eaten all of you.

However much of you is **left**.

**Author's Note:**

> she's not okay :)  
> fun fact! jasper's a sort of pacifist, she only fights when necessary and doesn't kill! or, doesn't kill when in full control of herself without any influences!!


End file.
